To Nurture a Ghost
by theartfulpuppet
Summary: Little fic focusing on moments of Bucky's "slow life" in Wakanda. AKA a healing balm for anyone in need of it after the very large ouch that was Infinity War.


Someone leaves him hot tea every morning. A little earthenware cup sits on a tray along with an earthenware pot, aromatic steam rising from its earthenware spout. Carefully pressing with his thumb to hold down the earthenware lid, he pours. Taking the cup in hand, he ducks under the low doorway of the hut and steps into the warmth of the morning. He sits down by the water's edge, sipping the tea and listening to the lapping sounds of the lake mingled with distant birdsong.

• • • • •

One of the woman in the village is his therapist. He admits to her that he still feels that he does not deserve the generous treatment that the people of this country have shown him. She is gentle but firm: "You have as much right as anyone to the opportunity to be fixed, to be accepted, to find ways to live life as best as you can." At this, tears threaten and he squeezes his eyes shut to block them, swallowing a sob. The numbness from years of forced repressed emotion has made crying an awkward affair, but she coaxes him to not hold back and to let the tears come and feel what he must, no punishment will come. In time, she assures him, it will be clear that it is better to let all emotions be felt than to not feel at all.

• • • • •

The children who hang around outside his abode seem unceasingly intrigued by his very presence; their curiosity seems to override any memory of repeated parental reprimands to not bother him. Not that he is bothered though. In fact, it gives him strange feelings of both comfort and amusement to have them following him around. To have them not be afraid of him. A group of them are delighted when he joins them in the game they are playing. A little girl knots a beaded bracelet around his wrist. Two young boys point out constellations in the night sky and tell him the names their culture has given them. Some days, they know to leave him alone. And some days he is silently grateful that they are there to distract him from getting lost amongst the ghosts that still linger in his mind.

• • • • •

He hears one of the children asking her mother, "Why does Ingcuka not smile?" He hears her reply, "A smile must be born on the inside, in the soul; it must be allowed to plant roots and grow, before we can see it bloom on the outside. It must be nurtured with love and kindness, for it can easily whither and fade many times before it can finally push through any darkness or sadness a soul might contain."

• • • • •

His thoughts drift as he aimlessly wanders around the edges of the wooded area near the village. Lush greenery surrounds a curtain of falling water and he sits down on a damp stone. Shutting his eyes, he lets his senses feel his surroundings and wills them to believe they are real: tiny droplets of moisture hitting his cheek, the lulling sound of the trickling waterfall, the wet earth under his bare feet, the encompassing warmth and fragrance of the humid air. He opens his eyes, and it is all still there, and he silently swears that no matter how relaxed, how at home he may eventually feel here, he will never, ever take any of this for granted.

• • • • •

Princess Shuri has summoned him to her lab, saying she is beginning preliminary plans for a new arm. He gazes around at the brightly detailed wall and at intriguing pieces of inventions around the space; he wonders if he should ask her about flying cars. He sits perfectly still while she is taking measurements and scans of his right arm, both shoulders, and the remaining metal socket. She mutters "Well we'll have to rid of that", and he tries not to think too much of what that will entail, despite each of his experiences in her lab being as physically painless as the last. She spends several minutes moving her fingers across the surface of the tablet in her hand. "Just to give us a basic idea of what we will potentially be working with," and she pulls a simple 3D projection of an arm up and aligns it in mid-air against his left shoulder. He has little time to wonder before she taps the screen and tells him to move his hand. No, the LEFT hand. He doesn't dare question the impossible command, and yet his breath catches in this throat as he realizes what is happening: the left arm and hand are moving, fingers opening and closing, and he is causing it. Shuri grins at his astonishment and says to him, "You have seen NOTHING yet."

• • • • •

"Ingcuka has found his appetite!" an elderly woman laughs in merriment as he hands her his bowl for seconds. He raises his eyebrows then ducks shyly with a little huff, his usual response to her gentle teasing. It's only a simple meal of chickpeas and couscous seasoned with mushrooms, but a day of his newly-assigned farm work has left him feeling a strange yet good sort of tired-out, and the food is the best thing he can remember eating in a very long time.

• • • • •

One of the little goats entrusted into his care insists upon ceaselessly climbing into a tree and leaping out of it; he gives up trying to make the little thing stop after its eleventh stubborn attempt, accepting that if it happens to enjoy doing dangerous things for fun, it will only learn by experience. Or not at all. Sounds familiar. Most of the other goats are very good-natured and for the most part, even the most rambunctious of them is capable of exhibiting a fair amount of graciousness. But one tiny, energetic pygmy goat kid scampers after his every step, crying out an incessant "Maaaa!" until he picks it up ("I have work and only one arm to do it with," he murmurs not too unaffectionately against its satisfied little face.) And yet another young kid seems to have made it a point of utmost importance to headbutt him in the knee every time he happens to be in its presence. He's decided to call it "Wilson".

• • • • •

The little girl who gave him the bracelet accompanies him as he guides his little herd of goats up and over the green hills near the village. The girl chatters animatedly, and as they reach the summit of one of the hills, she pauses, then says, "I'm glad you are here to be my friend, Ingcuka. You are my friend, aren't you?" He looks down into her solemn brown eyes, his heart swelling. "You bet," he replies, trying to keep his voice from wavering. She slips her tiny hand into his. "I'm glad", she says again. His smile is only a ghost of one, but it's a start.


End file.
